


The One Who Didn't Get Away

by elthedane



Series: What's Mine Is Yours [2]
Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Dark, Drug Addiction, Drug-Induced Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hurt Justin Foley, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 07:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14806907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elthedane/pseuds/elthedane
Summary: What if Justin had agreed to have a drink with Bryce in 2x13?





	The One Who Didn't Get Away

**Author's Note:**

> I think there was some pretty clear subtext in that very tense scene between Bryce and Justin in 2x13 (and their whole story arc ngl). That, combined with me being a terrible person, led to this fic. 
> 
> Also, even though it's part of a series and works better together with the last one, this fic can also stand on its own.
> 
>  
> 
> Warning: language, drugs, and fairly graphic non-con sex scene

 

Justin didn’t feel so good. His palms were sweating like crazy. He could feel his shirt starting to stick to him. He tried to convince himself it was the heat, the dancing, the room full of people, but he knew better. It had been over seven hours since he’d last shot up. Justin hated himself for needing something this bad, for becoming everything he’d spent his whole life hating. He was an addict, a loser, a deadbeat.

He got himself a bottle of water at the bar and tried to control his breathing. Sweating, shaking, nervousness… Those were the first symptoms of withdrawal. Justin inwardly kicked himself for having relapsed after his detox. Why the fuck had he done that? Now his addiction was just as bad as it had been before, maybe even worse. At least he used to smoke it, not shoot it. Something about putting a needle in your arm seemed worse somehow.

Justin dabbed at his face with a handkerchief. Everyone could tell, couldn’t they? It was like he had a fucking sign over his head that said “junkie scum”. He swallowed down half the water much faster than he’d planned to. It didn’t make any of the symptoms go away.

Just when he’d thought this night had been going badly enough, he spotted Bryce. Fuck. That was just perfect. He averted his eyes quickly, hoping that would avoid a conversation.

“You wanna real drink?” Bryce asked, taking a spot next to Justin against the bar. He was drinking from a flask monogrammed with his initials. Justin couldn’t help but do a quick calculation in his head of how much heroin he could buy if he stole it and pawned it.

“Nah, thanks. I’m good.” Justin said. His eyes flickered to all the possible routes of escape. Bryce was a rapist pig who had nothing left to offer him. What was he doing here?

Bryce held up his flask in a ‘cheers’ gesture, taking a swig. He looked at the dance floor wistfully, a stupid, punchable smile dancing on his lips. How dare he even show up here after everything he’d done?

“Brings back memories, huh?” Bryce said. Justin snorted.

“I heard you were transferring.” He said, unable to keep the bite out of his voice. It was all he could do not to tell him to _fuck off_.

“Yeah. Yeah. Gonna start over.” Bryce said, nodding and looking over at Justin. He had a strange look in his eyes that Justin couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.

“Lucky you.” Justin said. Of course _Bryce_ got to commit a felony and skate away as if nothing had ever happened. Sure, he had three months probation and lost his scholarships, but that was nothing compared to what he should have gotten. Hell, it was nothing compared to what _Justin_ got. He had six months probation and spent time in juvie. It was fucking ridiculous, but hardly surprising. And now Bryce would go off to some fancy school and people would forget about all the horrible shit he’d done and he’d go to college because his parents would pull some strings. The whole thing was gonna go away for him. If anything, Justin would suffer more than Bryce in this equation. Where was his fresh start, huh?

“I’m gonna miss this.” Bryce said. He shifted closer to Justin. He caught the subtext and shuddered. _Fuck. You_.

“All of it.” Bryce clarified, as if Justin had been too stupid to pick up on it the first time. Bryce took another swig of his flask. Justin could smell the booze on him already. He clenched his jaw.

“You remember freshman year? The night before our first day? You stayed over? We stayed up talking about how we were gonna be kings of this fucking school.” Bryce said, the ends of his words slurring slightly.

Justin shook his head microscopically. Of course Bryce would bring up that night. They hadn’t just _talked_. A lot more had happened that night, stuff that Justin would give anything to forget.

“Yeah, I remember.” Justin said. He didn’t finish that sentence. He didn’t say _I remember you pushing my head between your legs, telling me to prove I was loyal_ . He didn’t say _I remember you convincing me to finish your bottle of whiskey and then_ touching _me, even when I said no_. Justin didn’t say any of that, just bit his bottom lip until it hurt and hoped that Bryce would just leave.

“I’ll always remember.” Justin said. Bryce cracked a small smile. It made Justin’s skin crawl.

“Me too, brother.” Bryce said. He held out his flask towards Justin as an open invitation. Oh fuck it. Justin took it and took a long drink.

“There you go! That’s the Justin Foley I know.” Bryce said with a wink. Justin couldn’t force himself to smile. The whiskey and the withdrawal together was making his head spin. His water was almost done, too. And _fuck_ he needed heroin. Like right fucking now.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Bryce asked, laying a hand on Justin’s shoulder. He shrugged it off, trying to hide the disgust on his face.

“Yeah. Fine. I’m good.” He said quickly, wiping sweat from his brow.

“You don’t look fine, dude.” Bryce said. Justin could see through his stupid, fake concern. He finished his water and mumbled something about needing some air.

 

***  

 

Justin sat on the curb outside, squeezing his shaking hands between his knees.

“Keep your shit together.” He ordered himself, his voice breaking. Just for _one night_ , could he just pretend to be a normal teenager at a dance? Was that so much to ask? He was starting to feel cold now, even though it was April and almost 80 degrees.

“Justin.” He heard someone call. He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed, praying it wasn’t Clay. He couldn’t let Clay see him like this, not when he thought he was clean, not when his family agreed to adopt him. Justin couldn’t wrap his head around that. It didn’t make any sense. Who the fuck would actually _want_ him to live with them?

For once, Justin was almost relieved to see Bryce. Bryce handed him a new bottle of water.

“What do you need?” Bryce asked knowingly.

“Nothing from you.” Justin retorted. Bryce clicked his tongue and nodded a little.

“Huh. I guess I deserve that.” He said. Justin drank some of the water and snuck a few glances over at Bryce. He flushed red when their eyes met. Despite everything, there was still a part of Justin that craved his friend’s approval, his love. It was something he never felt as strongly with Clay, though those feelings were certainly starting to develop against his wishes.

“Yeah, you do. Cause you’re an ass-” Justin coughed, his head spinning. His hands were shaky and sweaty. He was a fucking mess. “-hole,” he finished.

“I saw Jess kissing Standall.” Bryce said, because of course he couldn’t help rubbing salt in that wound.

“So?” Justin said, keeping his eyes glued to the ground so they’d stop watering. The last thing he wanted was to cry in front of Bryce.

“So, she’s your girl, Justin. Go fight for her.” Bryce said, clapping him on the back. His hand lingered a little too long and Justin felt a shudder run up his spine.

“Jesus, you got skinny.” Bryce said. Justin cringed. Zach had said the same damn thing.

“Yeah. Heroin’ll do that to you.” Justin snapped. _Fuck off, Bryce_. He wished he had the courage to say it. Bryce’s eyebrows shot up.

“Shit.” Bryce breathed.

“Like you fucking care.” Justin said. Bryce already knew it, too. Justin was sure of it. It had been all over the blog already. Cause Hannah being involved with a low-life junkie was noteworthy for some people, apparently.

“Listen, Justin. I’m sorry about what I said at school the other day.” Bryce said. His voice was too soft to be genuine. He wanted something from Justin. Justin bit his bottom lip, willing it not to shake. He stood up and paced, keeping his gaze averted.

“Which part, huh?” He demanded, “Me being a white trash piece of shit? Or the part about no one giving a fuck about me?” Justin hated how his voice cracked. He made sure to turn away before wiping the tears from his face.

“I was wrong, okay. It was… I didn’t mean it.” Bryce said. He got up, too, slowly closing the distance between he and Justin. It was like he was approaching a wild animal.

“You weren’t.” Justin whispered.

“What?”

“Wrong. You weren’t wrong.” Justin said. He _was_ a white trash piece of shit. He’d been a homeless junkie for god’s sake. And once the Jensen’s found out he hadn’t gotten clean, he’d be back to square one. He’d be either in rehab or back out on his ass. It was inevitable.

“Hey…” Bryce wrapped his meaty hand around Justin’s bicep. Justin swallowed hard. Bryce didn’t used to be able to wrap his whole hand around his arm like that. It made him feel even worse.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” Justin said, though the fight had drained from his voice. Now, it just felt nice to have someone’s hands on him. He hated himself for it, but couldn’t convince himself to pull away. The part of him that wanted to rip his arm from his former friend’s grip was counteracted by the part of him who wanted Bryce to pull him into a hug and apologize for everything.

“Hey.” Bryce repeated, firmer this time. He put both hands on Justin’s biceps, squeezing lightly. His eyes were uncharacteristically soft. _Run away._ This meant nothing but trouble. He’d been down this fucking road before. It never led anywhere good.

“You’re shaking, man.” Bryce said. Justin swallowed hard.

“It’s cold.”

“It’s 80 degrees.” Bryce corrected. “Do you _need_ something?” Justin shook his head a little too insistently.

“I’m good.”

“You’re _not_ good. Let me help you. For old time’s sake.” Bryce said. He ran his hands from Justin’s biceps down to his wrists, shoving up his shirtsleeve. The track marks weren’t visible anymore. Justin had been careful about that. Bryce clicked his tongue.

“Drink this for now. Finish it up, I don’t mind.” Bryce said, handing Justin the flask. He didn’t even think about it, just downed its contents. It was only after it went to his head that he regretted doing so.

“Uh... I don’t - I don’t put it in there.” Justin stammered.

“Where do you put it?” Bryce asked. Justin felt his face flush red. He shrugged. Bryce’s lips curled into a smirk.

“Not _there_ , you fucking perv.” Justin said, tugging his sleeve back down.

“Sorry. I’m not a heroin expert.” Bryce said, trying for a lighthearted joke. Justin’s chest clenched in embarrassment.

“Fuck you. I can handle myself.”

“Yeah, you’ve been doing great without me.” Bryce said. Justin shoved him.

“Well none of my girlfriends have been _raped_ since I left!” Justin shouted. A few of the other stragglers outside turned to look at them. Most of them were on smoke breaks, clouds of tobacco or weed-scented smoke billowing towards them.

“Woah. Easy.” Bryce said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “If we’re gonna talk about that shit, we should do it somewhere more private.”

“I’m not going to your fucking house, Bryce! You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do? I’m not a stupid kid anymore, okay? Fuck you!” Justin snapped. Bryce exhaled slowly, nodding to himself.

“Alright. Well, there’s always the Clubhouse. No one’ll be in there.” Bryce suggested. It took almost all of Justin’s self-control not to punch him in the face. He knew he couldn’t win that fight.

“That arrangement we had? Forget it. I’m - I can’t do it anymore.” Justin said, his voice dangerously low. Bryce had to be on another level of crazy and narcissistic to think Justin would do him any favours after the stuff he’d said at the trials, and the pictures in the Clubhouse and everything with Jess…

“Let’s talk about this somewhere else.” Bryce hissed between clenched teeth. His fingers squeezed Justin’s bicep until he grunted in pain. Justin nodded, resolving not to let Bryce see how much he was hurting him. He had _some_ pride left, after all.

 

The Clubhouse was mostly cleared out, now. It looked like what it was supposed to be, just an old storage room. Justin couldn’t help but picture the girls from the Polaroids as he stared at the spot where the couch used to be. He didn’t want to be here. They could ‘talk’ on the bleachers or something, somewhere open and that didn’t make his skin crawl.

“Never mind. Let’s go back outside.” Justin said, trying to push past Bryce. He was unsteady on his feet, probably due to the booze. Bryce just laughed and popped open some folding chairs.

“You’re in withdrawal, Justin.” Bryce said. “Siddown.” Justin hesitated by the door before taking a seat.

“Do you have it with you?” Bryce asked. Justin swallowed hard and shrugged. Bryce snorted a laugh. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Justin muttered, more to himself than anything else. He wasn’t even sure Bryce heard him.

“You can shoot up here. I don’t mind.” Bryce said. _Of course you don’t_. Justin cleared his throat, his eyes scanning frantically around the Clubhouse for an exit he could get to without having to pass Bryce. What a lovely situation he’d gotten himself into.

Justin had always hated using in front of other people. If it was just him, he could tell himself all the lies he needed to hear. He could tell himself it wasn’t the same as when others did it, he had his own reasons. Sometimes he even imagined himself in a movie. He could convince himself this was the scene where he hit rock-bottom before something motivated him to clean up and go straight and everything would be okay.

With Bryce here, it was real. He wasn’t the complicated protagonist of some hopeful against-all-odds story, he was just another screw-up who’d probably O.D before he was 25. His hands shook as he took out the small pouch with his works. He hadn’t wanted to leave it in Clay’s room. He usually took his duffel bag with him everywhere, so he rarely had to worry about that. But, obviously, he couldn’t take his duffel to the dance. Justin had planned on leaving it in the car, but he’d been too scared that someone (namely, Clay) would find it.

“Can you… not watch?” Justin asked, humiliation creeping up his spine. Bryce shot him a knowing smirk.

“Whatever you want.” Bryce said. Justin exhaled sharply and balled and unballed his fists, trying to work up the courage. He couldn’t face detoxing again. Then the Jensens would know. They wouldn’t want him around anymore, he was sure of it. Justin would just have to keep it a secret.

Justin expertly held his lighter underneath the foil, watching the small piece of black tar dissolve with the heat. He filled up the syringe through a piece of cotton. That part was important. If you got a piece of solid in your needle, you were dead. Occasionally, Bryce would check over his shoulder and get a weird, cryptic smile on his face. Justin would always make him turn back around.

Justin tried to tie the rubber band around his bicep, but his hands were shaking too much. It kept slipping between his sweaty fingers. He sighed in frustration. He balanced the syringe on his lap, trying to kept the sharp end sterile. Still, the band slipped out of his hand.

“Fuck!” Justin grunted. Bryce was making him nervous. That must’ve been it.

“Need help?” Bryce asked.

“No. Turn the fuck around.” Justin ordered. He tried one more time. This time the band fell to the floor. Justin swore.

“God fucking dammit! Fuck!” He shouted, the corners of his eyes stinging. “Can’t even do this right.” Justin’s breath came out ragged.

“What’re friends for?” Bryce said, picking up the band and tying it around Justin’s thin arm. He was even more acutely aware of how skinny he’d gotten when Bryce’s densely muscled arms were there to dwarf his own.

“Don’t.” Justin protested. Bryce ignored him, taking the syringe from his trembling fingers.

“I’ve done this before. Don’t worry about it.” Bryce said, flicking the skin on the inside of Justin’s elbow until the veins bulged.

“What? When?” Justin asked.

“Not on me, obviously.” Bryce laughed. “Fucking Montgomery, man. You don’t seriously think he’s _naturally_ that good at baseball, do you?”

Justin nodded. For some reason, that made him feel fractionally better about himself. That he wasn’t the only one with substance issues. Justin chose not to mention the fact that he was pretty sure Bryce doped, too. He all but admitted it once during the football season.  

Bryce slid the needle into Justin’s vein better than he did himself, most of the time. It helped that his fingers were steady as a surgeon’s. Justin wondered if he was as drunk as he was pretending to be earlier. He pushed the thought out of his mind.

The sweet feeling of the drug in his bloodstream slid over Justin. It was like sinking into a warm bubble bath. It was the perfect combination of bliss and comfort and emptiness. He only briefly thought about the fact that he should have injected somewhere other than his elbow. It looked like he’d be wearing long sleeves for a while.

Justin slid to the ground, choosing to lay there and look at the unfinished ceiling of the Clubhouse. He felt like he was floating. The stress and anger and self-hatred was slowly being chased out of his body by the beautiful guardian of his soul named Heroin. Justin let out a satisfied sigh.

“Woah, man. You’re the real deal.” Bryce said. His voice echoed in Justin’s ears. He closed his eyes so he couldn’t see Bryce’s annoying, amused smirk. Justin just hummed, content. His skin was tingling warmly. He fumbled for his water, his fingers feeling weirdly heavy and slow. Justin gave up on the water and just let the rush take him over.  

Justin was only dimly aware of Bryce’s hands on his body. Those same thick, steady hands now wandered to his neck and down his torso. Bryce hooked his arm under Justin’s back, sitting behind him and letting him lean against his solid frame. Justin groaned in displeasure, but didn’t fight him off.

“In case you throw up.” Bryce said. Justin would have told him off, but he remembered Alex Standall flipping him over when he overdosed. He’d been so close to dying… His mind treacherously wondered if it would have been better if he had.

“‘M good.” Justin breathed. His voice sounded far away, alien. Good God, he’d taken a lot. More than he’d originally meant to.

“You’re breathing’s so slow. It’s fucking scary, man.” He heard Bryce say. It was weird having him here, but the warmth of Bryce’s body against his back felt nice.

“Heart’s slower.” Justin mumbled, laughing quietly to himself. Bryce put a hesitant hand on Justin’s chest, feeling for his heartbeat.

“I can’t feel it.” Bryce said. Justin hummed. “I want to, though.” Bryce started to unbutton Justin’s dress shirt, slipping the tie off Justin’s head. Justin jerked in protest, but Bryce mumbled about how it was fine and he just wanted to feel his heartbeat. Justin supposed it _was_ pretty cool how slow it was, but even with the heroin still fucking with his brain, he knew there was more to it than that.

Bryce slid Justin’s shirt off his thin shoulders and down his arms, throwing it to the side. He put his hand beneath Justin’s undershirt, directly over his heart.

“Oh, shit, you’re right.” Bryce said, huffing through his nose. “That’s crazy.”

Justin nodded in agreement and glanced around for his shirt. He couldn’t see it. Justin sat up, turning around to try and find it. He made the mistake of looking up and into Bryce’s eyes. There was a hunger there, that look that Justin had seen far too many times before.

“No.” Justin said, “I told you... Agreement’s over.” Justin had Clay now, he didn’t need the Walker’s charity anymore. He didn’t owe Bryce anything. Soon he’d even have a _home_. He’d never need to wander from couch to couch, afraid to be beat up by one of his mom’s asshole boyfriends.

“We used to have so much fun together, Justin.” Bryce said, “don’t you remember?” Bryce reached out to lay a hand on the back of Justin’s neck. He didn’t seem to mind how sweaty he still was. Justin’s mouth dropped open slightly. He wanted to tell him how it had only been fun for Bryce, how he’d wanted to die some of those nights. All he’d wanted was a place to stay, or some new stuff he couldn’t afford. The sexual favours had been a means of payment, nothing more.

“Fuck you.” Justin said. It sounded weak, even to his own ears. The heroin was making his mind slow, like weed but way more intense.

Bryce’s stare was intense, like a lion looking at a baby gazelle. Justin supposed Bryce had always preferred him at his most broken, most _needing_. He got off on it.

“What’ll Clay do once he finds out what you did?” Bryce said. The fake concern in Bryce’s voice made Justin’s stomach turn. Justin felt himself pale. His skin was suddenly unbearably itchy. He scratched at his forearms and then at his neck, his fingers accidentally brushing up against Bryce’s.

 _He wouldn’t_ . Justin swallowed hard, but knew it was bullshit. Of course Bryce would. Bryce would use anything and everything he could to prove he was still in charge here, that Justin was still _his_ to do with as he pleased.

Bryce’s hand suddenly tightened on Justin’s neck, the other one rotating his torso so he was face down on the dirty cement floor.

“No. No! Not here!” Justin said, his hazy brain catching up to what was going on. He could feel grains of dirt on his cheek, taste it in his mouth.

“Shh. Just like old times, huh? Just like old times…” Bryce whispered in Justin’s ear, kissing his neck from behind. Justin jerked back, the back of his head colliding with Bryce’s nose. Bryce grunted and then laughed. He shifted his hand to the back of Justin’s head in a quick, smooth motion, slamming his head into the ground. Justin cried out as his forehead exploded in pain. He felt wetness under his face. The skin must’ve split.

“Bryce! I’m not kidding.” Justin protested. He rubbed his forearm into the dirt ground to itch it. Somehow not being able to reach that felt worse than having Bryce on top of him.

“You thought our agreement could just _stop_?” Bryce spat, “that you don’t still owe me?”

“Bryce!” Justin shouted, squirming under his former friend’s weight.

“I mean, Monty’s blowjobs are shit, but at least he’s loyal.” Bryce spat into Justin’s ear. “I missed you when you were gone.”

“Fuck you, man! Fuck you! Fuck off!” Justin shouted, his voice muffled by the floor. He spat out the dirt and immediately regretted it because now the dirt stuck to the spit on his face and made it even worse.

Bryce’s breath was hot and heavy against his ear. Justin knew that the more he struggled, the more Bryce got off on it. He loved the feeling of control.

“Do you want me to tell Clay about how you were shaking and itching yourself like the fucking junkie piece of shit you are? What do you think he’d do after that? He’d kick you to the curb, too, wouldn’t he? Just like everyone else.” Bryce ran his fingers through Justin’s hair, the movement far to gentle for the poisonous words coming out of his mouth.

“I hate you! I fucking hate you!” Justin sobbed.

 _No one in this world gives a shit about you. You have nothing, and nobody_. Bryce’s words echoed in his head. How could he have forgotten about how horrible Bryce was, even for a second? How could he have been so stupid to get himself into this situation? He’d gone to juvie because of the guy, he’d cried himself to sleep on numerous occasions because of him, he’d even thought of putting a bullet in his brain because of that asshole. Justin was an idiot for forgetting that for even a minute.

“I was surprised you didn’t turn me in,” Bryce said, his breath hitching. Justin heard the sound of pants unbuckling and felt his own being removed. He was too high to do much about it and Bryce’s hand on his neck kept him from fighting. He knew it would happen one way or another, he might as well just try to make it easier on himself at this point.

“You’re a fucking psychopath.” Justin choked.

“I was always there for you, Justin. All I want is a little gratitude.” Bryce said. He was stroking himself now, although he was already rock-hard. There was something about the shininess in Justin’s eyes, the pathetic defeat in his jaw, the slump of his shoulders since he got back that just made Bryce want to fuck him. Vulnerability was sexy. He read that in a book somewhere.

Justin made one last attempt to throw Bryce off him, jerking sideways and grabbing the hand on his neck, trying to shake Bryce off. Bryce let out a short laugh and gripped both of Justin’s wrists behind his back, pinning him down with one hand. The other was still busy with his dick, no doubt rubbing spit on it. Justin used to be stronger than this. He could have at least put up a good fight before the drugs stole all his strength and body mass.

“You used to like this,” Bryce murmured, “what happened to you?” _I stopped telling you what you wanted to hear, dumbass._

Bryce inserted a few wet fingers into Justin’s hole, opening him up. Bryce’s dick grew heavier as Justin’s breath hitched. Bryce made a scissoring motion with his two fingers before adding in another. Justin could only imagine the stupid fucking smile on Bryce’s face when he let out a small grunt of pain.

Bryce pushed himself in slowly, Justin’s tight ass squeezing slightly in response. Bryce let out a ragged huff of enjoyment.

“Oh God, I missed you.” He breathed in Justin’s ear. One of Bryce’s hands gravitated towards Justin’s dick, the other clamped tightly around Justin’s forearm, forcing him into an awkward half-kneeling position. Bryce’s hand started to move simultaneously with his hips, each new stab of pain accompanied with a stroke of pleasure. Justin’s mouth fell open, his breath growing faster.

Justin’s hole throbbed. Bryce’s rhythm increased, his body making a disgusting slapping sound as he thrust himself further and further into his former best friend’s body. Justin cried out in agony, but also in ecstasy. The hand on his dick moved expertly and, despite his best efforts, Justin’s body was responding to the touch. As much as he felt violated and disgusted it felt… good. Somehow that made it even worse.

“See, you like this. You _want_ this.” Bryce breathed into his ear. Justin didn’t respond. His eyes fluttered closed when Bryce’s hand squeezed his dick a little, pre-sum oozing from his tip. Justin’s breath was rough with pleasure, but he also tasted salt. Was he crying? What the fuck?

“Say it to me, baby.” Bryce urged, his voice shaking. He grunted, pushing his dick into Justin’s hole with increasing intensity. He felt the inexperienced muscles flutter around his cock and his breath hitched. Justin said nothing. Bryce huffed in frustration and made his next thrust unnecessarily violent. Justin yelped in sudden pain.

Bryce removed his hand from Justin’s dick and moved it to the boy’s other arm, pinning him down completely.

“Bryce…” Justin begged, his dick throbbing. “I’m so close, please…” Justin’s voice broke. His cock was so heavy it was starting to hurt. He just needed that friction back. He needed it so bad. He fought against Bryce’s hold, even though it accomplished nothing.

“Tell me how much you want me.” Bryce said. Justin shuddered as the hot breath made the skin on the back of his neck stand up.

“I… I want you.” Justin’s voice broke into a sob. He just needed that touch back so bad… But this was _Bryce_ . Justin wanted to puke simply from self-hatred and disgust. No, he didn't want Bryce. Justin hated Bryce. He’d never wanted Bryce to touch him like this, but - but he needed it _so bad_. His dick throbbed and leaked precum onto the filthy floor of the Clubhouse.

“Please.” A rough voice begged. It took Justin a second to realize it was his.

“Well, if you insist.” Bryce growled, his breath short. He was pretty close to coming as well. He slid his hand back on Justin’s dick, revelling in how rough his breathing had become.

Justin could pretend it was someone else’s hand if he closed his eyes. He pictured Jess, her soft brown eyes staring up at him, her hand wrapped around… No, the hand was too big, too unmistakably male. He thought of Clay. _Wait, what the fuck?_ Justin imagined Clay’s awkward, tight-lipped smile, a snarky comment about how he most certainly _wasn’t_ uptight, and then his hand wrapping around the base of Justin’s cock. Clay would lick his lips, furrow his brow in that _totally not attractive way,_ and ask if he was doing okay… _Oh god…_

Bryce let out an animalistic grunt, bucking his hips into Justin’s ass.

“Oh, fuck, fuck… You’re so fucking tight.” Bryce said. Justin bit into his hand against the last bit of pain. Bryce thrust one last time, cum bursting from the tip of his dick. He wanted to fill Justin up, see his cum drip from his raw, red hole. Bryce wanted to see Justin’s face change from fucked-out ecstacy to horrified realization.

Justin’s eyes were squeezed shut as Bryce pulled out with a sickening squelch. He felt the sudden coolness of the air on his exposed hole and shuddered. Somehow, it just added to the mounting euphoria as Bryce’s hand slid down Justin’s shaft, using just the right amount of pressure to make his eyes roll back in his head, his hips bucking.

“Oh, shit…” Justin heaved. “I’m- I’m…” Bryce gave one last jerk and that was Justin’s undoing. He let out a muffled, porn-worthy groan and collapsed onto his stomach, letting the wave of pleasure wash over him.

The pleasure was gone as soon as it had appeared. Justin sat up suddenly, his eyes glued to the dirty floor. His ass throbbed. Justin didn’t even bother to clean himself up. He pulled up his boxers, his eyes stinging with tears. _No, no, no, what the fuck._ The cum made his boxers stick to his ass and his dick. He immediately regretted ignoring the clean-up.

“Told you it’d be just like old times,” Bryce breathed. The image of a fucked-out Justin begging for him like a whore replayed in his head, almost making his dick hard all over again.

 

Justin stayed on the floor. His eyes were wide and blank. Holy shit, he’d thought of _Clay_. What the fuck was that? He put his head in his hands, self-disgust rising like bile in his throat. He caught sight of the track marks on his arm and his breath caught. He was so fucked.

The realization hit him all at once. He’d let Bryce fuck him _again_ . No matter how many times he convinced himself he’d never let it happen again, he’d given in embarrassingly easily. Justin was a  hypocrite. He talked so much shit about Bryce, but he’d _begged_ for him. Holy shit, he’d begged for Bryce to jerk him off. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Justin sobbed. He didn’t even care that Bryce was still there, using a towel to wipe Justin’s cum from his hand. He didn’t even care that Bryce probably had a self-satisfied smirk on his face, happy to have proved Justin wrong, to have broken down the resolve he’d thought was so strong. Bryce liked Justin most when he was broken. This was probably turning him on more than the actual encounter. Justin was so disgusted with himself that he just cried harder, his bony shoulders shaking.

Bryce wrapped his arms around Justin.

“Being bi is okay nowadays. It’s fine.” Bryce said, as if that was the fucking problem.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Justin shouted. Nevertheless, he leaned into Bryce’s chest, letting him run his hand through his hair. He was too touch-starved not to admit it felt good.

Once again, Justin’s life was falling apart. He couldn’t hide his addiction forever. It was only a matter of time before Clay and his parents found out. Then he’d be back to being homeless, wandering the streets trying not to make eye contact with anyone. He couldn’t handle the pity, the humiliation. Justin didn’t want to go back to giving hand jobs for heroin. Even the indignity of coming to Bryce for help was better than that. He would end up like those tweaked-out homeless bums who toasted their brains with drugs. He’d be everything he’d been scared to turn into since he realized his mom was a junkie. Everything he did seemed to steer him closer and closer to that fate.

Justin just wanted to forget. Blinking away the tears in his eyes, he pulled away from Bryce and retrieved his lighter, syringe, and bag of heroin. Bryce reached behind him and passed him the foil and rubber band. Justin was shaking too much to do it himself.

“Shhh. I got you.” Bryce said. The sickly sweetness in his voice made Justin want to puke, but he lay his head back on Bryce’s shoulder, letting him tie the band around his bicep. Justin dissolved the heroin himself and filled the syringe, not trusting Bryce to do it properly. But he handed it back to him, with the same unspoken and precarious trust they’d had since the third grade. Whatever shit Justin got himself into and no matter how horrible Bryce could be, he could still count on his help. Even though there were strings attached, it was better than being completely alone.

“I’m so fucked up.” Justin whispered. He closed his eyes as the needle pierced his skin and let him mouth fall open as the rush hit him.

And for a minute, everything was quiet and peaceful. There was no Hannah Baker, no Jessica Davis, no Clay Jensen, no Bryce Walker… It was just Justin and the sweet sensation of floating and someone’s fingers in his hair. And just for a minute, everything seemed okay.

 

Justin woke up cold, alone, and in the dark. His boxers were stiff, his pants half-on, and his asshole was raw. Justin’s fingers came back bloody when he touched his forehead. Bryce’s black and blue finger marks had begun to appear on Justin’s arms and neck. He had to fumble around to find his shirt and tie. His fingers bumped against a syringe and a burnt-up piece of foil. His arm looked like hell. The puncture sites were swollen and starting to bruise. Justin’s chin started to wobble as he realized how much of a fucking mess he was. He’d been out of his mind to think the Jensens actually wanted him. Justin was damaged goods. He was past saving.

 

Bryce Walker had been right about him. No one in the world _should_ give a shit about him. Justin Foley deserved to have nothing and nobody.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment your thoughts and/or suggestions or prompts ! Always appreciated.
> 
>  
> 
> (Also, any fans of Avengers: Infinity war, that first line was for you) ;)


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